The Phantom Agony
by Insane Anarchist-aka Allie
Summary: Emily is having blackouts: blackouts filled with vivid images and events in a strange, colorful world. Convinced she is going crazy, she seeks help…but all the psychiatric help in the world can't help her, for that world is real. T for safety.
1. Blackouts and Paper

**Summary:** Emily is having blackouts: blackouts filled with vivid images and events in a strange, colorful world. Convinced she is going crazy, she seeks help…but all the psychiatric help in the world couldn't help her when she tumbles down a rabbit hole and finds herself in the place that has filled her blackouts.

**Author's Note:** Eventually I'll get around to the original idea I had for 2010 Alice…which was a rewrite of the end (I didn't like it. Boo.), but for now, this one seems to be taking precedence. Please excuse my late updates in advance. :P This is just a trial run, because I haven't posted in FOREVER. Let me know if I should continue, please. :)

**PS:** The title for this story comes from an incredible song of the same title, by a Dutch symphonic metal band called Epica. (Recommended for listeners of medium-heavy music, no less. THERE IS GROWLING. XD)

**Pronunciation Notes:** _Papier_ is pronounced PAH-pee-yay.

"So, you've been having blackouts, Miss Harper?"

I nodded, resisting the urge to snuggle deep into the squishy sofa.

Mr. Millington, my psychiatrist—my third, in fact, in the past four months—made a note on his notepad. "And you see things during these blackouts?"

"Yes…the same place, usually. But different events."

He raised an eyebrow. "Care to elaborate?"

I pondered how best to describe my experiences for a moment before replying. "Well…I mean different events in the same place, same country, whatever you want to call it. It's like I'm seeing pieces of a country's history—taking part in them occasionally, too."

"How well do you remember these…events?"

"Perfectly. They aren't the clearest things to begin with, but I remember everything I saw…like it really happened." I sighed. I was sounding crazier by the second. Any moment now I'd be referred to an asylum, just like the last two times. I _wasn't_ going to an asylum, that was for sure.

Mr. Millington made another note. "Could you describe a specific event for me? A really vivid one, if you please."

That took me a moment—I'd been having these weird blackouts for five months, and selecting one happenstance would be tough. After a while, I settled on a semi-recurring one. "There's one that's happened several times, but each time it's slightly different—the conversation, where I'm sitting, the weather… I'm at a tea party, with some really—odd people."

"What do you mean by _odd_?"

I frowned. "Mad, if you want the truth. They're completely and utterly mad."

He made a note. "Do they have names?"

"Sort of?" I posed it as a question, beginning to feel more and more unsure.

Mr. Millington looked at me over the top of his glasses.

"I mean…they have weird names. The March Hare, the White Rabbit, and the Mad Hatter." I swallowed after saying the names: I was embarrassed. At one point I figured I just had an overactive imagination, but after I'd blacked out in the middle of a busy street, I sought help—it didn't change the _crazy_ aspect of the sequences.

More notes. "The March Hare and the White Rabbit, you say? Are they animals, or are those just names?"

I blushed lightly. "They're animals. A hare and a white rabbit."

"And this Mad Hatter, is he…?"

"He's a hatter, yeah."

Mr. Millington made yet another note. "And you say you're at a tea party?"

I nodded, trying to regain my composure. "Yes. And it's more than just sitting there—I drink tea and eat cake, and I can actually taste it…I've blacked out when I was hungry, gone into a tea party dream, and come out not feeling hungry at all."

"The mind is a strange thing, Miss Harper." He paused to make a few more notes, then asked, "How is your home life?"

That was unexpected. "It's…not wonderful. I live alone. My parents died when I was ten, and I was changing foster homes until I was old enough to leave."

Mr. Millington looked truly sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Miss Harper." He hesitated, then said, "Your dreams could be a result of your childhood trauma—a result of some hidden desire to go someplace better, perhaps."

It was an interesting theory, one that I didn't subscribe to. "I'm happy being out of those foster homes, Mr. Millington."

He smiled. "Yes, but how happy are you? My guess is even _you_ don't really know that—we're all capable of deluding ourselves. And when we are, it's such a task to stop the delusion."

I went home with a prescription for anti-depressants, one that I would probably never fill—I wasn't depressed, I knew that. I'd even taken almost every single online test for depression I could, and I never was told I was depressed. And there was no way I was "deluding" myself into thinking I was happy: I had an apartment, a steady job, and an overall stable life, despite my glaring lack of family and friends. Sure, it might've been nice to have friends…but I tended to scare everyone away with my weird blackouts.

Ok, so not _everything_ was perfect: there was the whole issue of the blackouts, but I was working on it. They weren't getting better, but…I still had hope.

I spent the rest of the day on my sofa, reading a book: _The Two Towers_. I always enjoyed reworking my way through the Lord of the Rings trilogy, preceded by _The Hobbit_ and with a follow-up of _The Silmarillion_. I grinned as I read one of Treebeard's mildly nonsensical lines.

_I was at a party—all around me were happy, dancing people, laughing and talking or just sipping drinks and enjoying each other's company. About twenty-five feet away was a beautiful woman with white hair, in a white dress and on the back of a white horse. She caught my eye and smiled, mouthing, 'Welcome back, Emily.'_

_This took me aback, but I waved all the same. Who was she, though? A name floated on the edge of my memory, just out of reach… Of course. Mirana, the White Queen._

"_Emily!"_

_I looked up sharply to see a pale-faced man with colors around his eyes, a top hat, and bright orange hair coming up to me, a big grin on his face. His eyes were electric green, fitting rather well with his colorful attire and altogether eccentric appearance. "You've returned after all," he said warmly._

"_Erm—yes, I have." I grinned nervously. "How are you?"_

_His voice grew dark, suddenly gaining a Scottish lilt, and the color around his eyes turned to grey. "Oh, rather wonderful."_

_I was taken aback by this change, but something told me it was nothing to worry about. "That's always good to hear," I responded. "So…what's the party for?"_

_The darkness around his eyes faded back to its usual color. "There has to be a reason?" He asked, confused._

"_Well…I suppose not," I conceded. What was his name? I was so close, so very close… Ah! He was the Mad Hatter—someone I'd told-_

-my psychiatrist about.

I let out a cry as I realized I'd blacked out again. Looking around myself, I discovered, to my horror, that I was on the roof of my apartment building—a cold gust of wind whipped my hair around, chilling me further. Thankfully I wasn't anywhere near the edge, but still…what if I'd stayed in the blackout for longer? Would I have killed myself? It was a sickening thought.

Almost going at a run, I returned to my apartment, sinking gratefully back onto the sofa. My book was bookmarked, sitting neatly on the table—it was as if it was mocking me. Apparently I cared deeply for books, even when blacked out.

That had been a bad blackout: it had lasted for more than fifteen minutes, an abnormally long time. Usually they were only about five minutes in length, if that. But this one…this one had been scary long. I had a sinking feeling they were getting worse.

I went to the bathroom, peering at myself in the mirror. My eyes were blue, but reddish around the blue—my red hair, usually nicely wavy, was somewhere between straight and waved from not having been washed in a few days. I had on no makeup, my pale red eyelashes sharply offsetting the blue-black circles underneath my eyes.

In short, I looked awful—sure, I could clean myself up, but why bother? Who was I going to show off to? Sighing at myself, I slouched into my bedroom, flopping down on the bed and curling up, hoping to avoid anymore blackouts.

I did, sort of. I relived earlier blackouts, replaying them all like some sort of twisted movie—I was the fly on the wall, forced to watch everything I'd done in that strange land. It was particularly hard to watch the time I'd slapped the Mad Hatter when he'd gotten angry at me—needless to say I left the dream-state right afterwards, and next time apologized, but still…I had _slapped_ someone. Even if it was inside a dream, I felt awful about it. It was the sort of thing I would _never_ forgive someone for, but the Hatter had.

"Oh, listen to yourself. You're talking about figments of your imagination!" I berated myself, upon exiting up after a particularly nasty dream-memory, when I'd nearly fallen off a cliff. I then groaned._ And now I'm talking to myself. Great._

The phone rang suddenly, jolting me out of my thoughts. I hurried to pick it up—but the second my hand touched the receiver, the ringing stopped. Startled, I removed my fingers…

_Ring! Ring!_

Ok, this was getting seriously off-kilter. I pulled my mobile out to check it, but it wasn't ringing, and there weren't any missed calls. My landline was still ringing insistently, so I went to pick it up again—and yet again, the ringing stopped. Irritated and more than a little unsettled, I picked it up…only to hear the dial tone.

"Whoever's messing around with me, you can stop it," I said aloud, trying to swallow my fear.

Something sharp poked my ear, and I hurriedly dropped the receiver, wondering what had hurt me…and then I noticed the envelope squeezing itself out of the phone. I screamed, but then clapped my hands over my mouth—it was just an envelope, after all.

The envelope finished its difficult journey out of the receiver, only to fall harmlessly to my kitchen floor. It lay there innocently, face-down so I couldn't see the front.

Swallowing past my dry throat, I bent and picked it up, turning it over. Black ink in swirly lettering spelled out my name: _Emily Harper_. This was getting too freaky—I wondered briefly if I was having a blackout, but that particular tether to reality didn't jerk me out like realistic things usually did, so I had to accept that this was very real. Or I was crazier than before.

I opened the envelope, pulling out the folded parchment.

It was blank.

This was quickly becoming a very sick joke. I tossed the paper and envelope away, about to scream something, when…

"Ouch! That wasn't very nice, now was it?"

This time I really screamed, until my voice gave out from the exertion.

"Hmph. Are you quite finished? That was rather painful, Miss Harper."

It took me several seconds to get my breath back, and my voice—and then I noticed the ink-face that had appeared on the parchment. This was quickly becoming like one of my blackouts. "Did you just talk?" I asked softly.

The face rolled its eyes. "Duh! Who else would be talking? Unless you happen to have any animals, of course." Its expression became sour. "I really hate cats," it grumbled. The voice was definitely male, and sounded…irate.

"Paper doesn't usually talk," I protested, sitting down beside him. My head was spinning wildly—it was all I could do not to run away, and very fast.

He smirked. "Well, I'm not just _any_ paper."

"So I see," I said dryly. Jeez, this conversation was quickly leaving the 'believable' and going towards 'ridiculous.'

The ink-face cleared his 'throat' and said, "Right, then. You _are_ Emily Harper, yes?"

I swallowed. "Um…yeah…how did you know that?"

"I was sent here, duh. How else would I know?"

I was really beginning to get freaked out—this was _totally_ insane, just like me…hah. "Right, so, um…Mr. Piece of Paper-"

"Papier."

"Excuse me?" It sounded French, but I couldn't be sure—I hadn't taken French in years.

He sighed. "My name is _Papier_."

Ok, so it _was_ French. "Isn't that French for paper?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It's Underlandish for glorious messenger, if that's what you mean," Papier corrected haughtily. "Anyway, Miss Harper, I was sent here to invite you most cordially to a party in honor of the one-year anniversary of the most glorious Frabjous Day."

It took me several seconds to process what he'd just said. "Excuse me?" I finally asked, feeling hopelessly lost.

Papier rolled his eyes. "I said, _I was sent here_-"

"No, I know what you said…I don't get what you _mean._ What's the Frabjous Day?"

Another ink-eye roll. It was getting irritating. "Ugh, you stupid Overlanders. The Frabjous Day is the day Alice slayed the fearsome Jabberwocky! Honestly, do I have to explain _everything_?"

"Well…you're a messenger, sort of, right? Isn't that kinda your job?" I suggested. This entire thing was 100% surreal now, past the stage of ridiculousness. I was having a conversation with a _piece of paper_ that called itself the French word for paper. And here I was thinking Papier was crazy… The irony was almost too much.

Papier smirked. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Anyway, you'd better get prepared for a bit of a journey, Miss Harper."

"Woah, who said I was going anywhere?" I cried, springing to my feet.

With a sigh, Papier floated to eye level—I nearly shrieked, but managed to keep the sound inside. "Me. You were invited by the _White Queen_, Overlander. You'd be stupid not to attend."

I grimaced. "Who's the White Queen?" I asked, feeling a little sheepish—I'd been invited to something by a _queen_?

"Mirana of Marmoreal…haven't you heard of her?"

I shook my head, eliciting another eye-roll from Paper. "Honestly! She's the queen of Underland, silly."

Once again, I had to pause to take everything in. "So the queen of the place you're from—Underland—invited me to a party for the one-year anniversary of the slaying of some creature by some girl named Alice?" I clarified, in one breath.

Papier nodded, beaming. "Yes! Alice is an Overlander, like yourself…we're having some trouble locating her. Do you know her, by any chance?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. What's her last name?"

"Um…Kingsley. I think."

For once, Papier was unsure of something. I had to fight not to grin. "Nope, sorry, I don't know any Alice Kingsley."

Papier circled me, looking as if he'd seen me for the first time. "What sort of ridiculous outfit is _that_? You're not at all proper—I've got no idea why the White Queen would want _you_ around," he sniffed arrogantly.

I glared at him. "What are you talking about? This is perfectly normal!" I was only wearing jeans and a t-shirt, for heaven's sake. Papier was really beginning to get on my nerves.

"Normal? You're mad. Not saying I'm not, of course, but you're madder than me! Why aren't you wearing a dress?"

"Because I hate dresses," I growled, turning away from the infuriating floating paper.

Papier snickered. "Well, you're going to have to wear one when you go to the party."

I struggled to maintain my composure. "I'm not going to any party," I said stiffly.

"You have to."

Finally, on the verge of losing my temper, I rounded on Papier. "No. I. Don't," I snarled, pointing a finger in his direction. "And you'd better leave now, before I stick you in the fire!" I probably wouldn't, but he didn't know that.

Unfortunately, my threat did nothing. "You've got no choice," he laughed, obviously pleased with himself.

"Oh, really?" I grumbled. "I beg to differ."

"Beg all you want," said Papier. "You've got to go, because you're the only way I can get back—so if you don't go, you're stuck with me. Forever."

I froze, staring at the paper in horror. And then I passed out.


	2. Glorious Travels

**Summary:** Emily is having blackouts: blackouts filled with vivid images and events in a strange, colorful world. Convinced she is going crazy, she seeks help…but all the psychiatric help in the world couldn't help her when she tumbles down a rabbit hole and finds herself in the place that has filled her blackouts.

**Author's Note:** So, the first chapter was well-received…hence this guy. :D My update goal for this story is a chapter every 1-2 weeks…but we'll see how that goes. XD (I'm already failing that…oops.) PS: my English teacher was ranting about too many adverbs. What do you all think? Anyway, aside from that…this ended up being mostly a filler chapter, IMO, but no worries…we get into the good stuff in the next chapter! And, if everything goes as planned…we might have a meeting between Emily and the Mad Hatter!!!! :D Enjoy! :)

I groaned and opened my eyes, feeling a slight breeze on my face. As my vision settled, I realized it wasn't a breeze—it was Papier, frantically waving at me. He stopped when he noticed I was awake. "Oh, good, you're up. I was beginning to get a cramp."

My brain was still too muddled to question his nonsensical statement—I couldn't quite understand how _paper_ could get cramps. When my mind finally woke up fully, I remembered Papier's last statement: I _had_ to go to this party, or I'd be stuck with the irritating ink-creature. "Oh no," I groaned at the revelation.

Papier snickered. "There it is. So, do you want to start packing, Miss Harper? I would very much like to get back to Underland now."

Forcing myself into a sitting position, I said, "I would very much like you to get back to Underland too, so yes, I'll go get packed. How long am I staying?" I rubbed at the bump on the back of my head, wincing in pain when I applied pressure.

"As long as you'd like," replied Papier cryptically.

I rolled my eyes. "How long do I have to stay for the party?" I clarified.

Papier raised an ink-eyebrow. "You should have just said that, you know. The party will be three days long. At the end of the third day you'll be free to go."

Three days. Three miserable days spent…where again? "Where are we going, anyway?"

"To _Underland_, to the White Queen's palace. Duh. Where else?" Papier scoffed, floating away towards my bedroom.

I followed hesitantly, rolling the name around in my head. Finally I asked, "What's it under?"

Papier turned so he was floating backwards. "The sky?" He dove into my closet, and I had to grab him out of there. "You can't just go into my closet!" I cried, glaring at him.

"Oh, please. What am I going to do? I'm a piece of paper, if you haven't noticed," Papier grumbled—he remained outside the closet, though.

"I did notice," I snapped back, pulling my black duffel bag out of a drawer. I threw in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, socks, undergarments, and a pair of pumps… And then I had to find a dress. Except there was one teensy problem with that… "Papier, I'm not wearing a dress," I said, after hunting through my hangers a few times.

Papier floated into my personal bubble, right near my face. "It's a _formal_ occasion, Miss Harper. You've got to."

I rolled my eyes, pushing him aside. "Yeah, but I don't _own_ a dress," I growled.

He blinked in surprise. "Well…we'll just have to get one made for you. I'm sure one of Her Majesty's seamstresses will help you out."

Eew. A dress. I had been hoping that my lack of a dress would let me avoid wearing one…but apparently not. But I had to accept that there was nothing for it: I would have to go along with it. If Papier was any indication of the sort of people that lived in _Underland_, then I might be attacked if I didn't do what they said.

I gathered together my toiletries, grabbed a book, and was ready. "Alright, let's go," I said resignedly.

Papier grinned. "Excellent. You'll have to hold me—from what I know, Overland isn't a place for a floating paper, hmm?"

Swallowing a nasty comment, I held out my hand, and Papier floated into it, settling delicately into my palm. "You have to go to a place called _Shanklin Chine_—do you know it?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I know it. Thankfully it's on the same island, maybe an hour's drive away," I said, keeping my voice low.

Papier was silent a moment. "We're on an island?"

--

One hour later, I was pulling up outside the entrance to Shanklin Chine, a beautiful ravine-park on the Isle of Wight. Papier told me to enter, with my duffel—which I thought would make me look stupid. In fact, the attendant at the gate asked, "What's the bag for, ma'am?"

I thought fast. "I'm a photographer—I wanted to have all my different lenses and such with me. I hope it's not a problem…"

He shook his head. "No, go right ahead, you're fine."

Surprised at my good fortune, I entered the Chine, heading off down the path. It was mid-afternoon: the sun was high in the sky, and it was surprisingly hot for the Isle of Wight. I was soon too hot inside my jeans, t-shirt, and hoodie. Just as I was about to shed a layer, Papier whispered, "Turn right here."

"That would mean going off the path," I protested weakly, eyeing the dense trees to my right.

Papier chuckled softly. "Yes, you're right. But it's the only way in."

Anxious about being caught, I trudged up the steep hill, my duffel quickly becoming a hindrance. Thankfully though, once my temperature settled, it was nice and cool under the trees—in fact, the walk itself wasn't that bad. The scenery was beautiful, and despite the occasional whisper from Papier, I felt very alone: I liked being alone.

"Alright, you can stop here a moment," said Papier finally, pulling free of my hand to float in front of my face.

I sank onto the ground, relieved, and leaned back against my duffel bag. "How much farther is it?" I asked curiously.

Papier looked sheepish. "Oh, not far," he said, way too lightly.

"Papier," I growled, "how much farther?"

His eyes went wide. "An hour. Maybe more."

I groaned and closed my eyes, unable to believe that. We must've been going for more than an hour already!

"I'm sorry it's a long walk," said Papier, sounding genuine, "but it's the only way—we can't risk people just stumbling upon the entrance."

Although that made sense, it didn't make me feel any better…especially when Papier floated higher and said demandingly, "Well, let's keep going."

I stared at him for a moment. "What about resting?"

"That _was_ resting, Overlander," he snapped. I realized that he called me _Overlander_ when he was irritated—it was that thought that made me stand up, pick up my duffel, and keep going.

Papier had been right—almost an hour and a half later, he said I could stop. "Now we wait," he said calmly, floating to rest on my dropped bag. I was slumped against it, reveling in the cool breeze that was currently blowing through the dense forest.

"Wait for what?" I asked, slightly breathless.

He rolled his ink-eyes. "The Portal, of course!"

I opened my eyes, giving the paper a harsh glare. "I don't know anything about this situation, so you can stop expecting me to. Now, what's the Portal?"

Papier gave me a bemused glance. "What does it sound like?"

Well, I certainly wasn't getting answers _that_ way. "Never mind." I closed my eyes, wishing to fall asleep—it was tranquil enough for me to do so, but my raging thoughts just wouldn't let me. I was too consumed in what had happened in the past four and a half hours: I knew so much more, and yet I felt like I knew nothing at all. It really messed with my mind, and I'd always thought I had a strange mind.

"What does the Portal look like?" I asked after a while, curiosity getting the best of me. Cracking one eye open, I noticed Papier fluttering gently around in the breeze, but never straying too far from where I was—for all intents and purposes, he looked like a normal piece of paper. When I asked my question, however, he stopped fluttering and faced me.

Papier's ink-face scrunched up in thought for a moment. "You know what it looks like when you have a clear bowl of water, and you put one drop in and get the ripples? It looks like that, with Underland on the other side instead of whatever's beneath the bowl."

For once, there was no cynicism or snappishness in his voice, and I got a view of what Papier was like when he _wasn't_ ticked off—which I decided wasn't very often. "Ok…so…we just…go through it, then?"

"Well, _duh_. What kind of a portal would it be if we didn't go through it?" Papier scoffed, back to his usual self.

I sighed. "Look, I'm totally out of my depth here, so _please_ stop snapping at me." Yes, I had reduced myself to begging. But my nerves were frayed by the little piece of paper, and I was beginning to be sick of how he treated me—like I was some imbecile foreigner.

Papier didn't response, instead fluttering down closer to my face. "I really can't see why the Queen wants you around. You've got no manners."

"Manners? _Manners_?!" I spluttered, gaping at the sheet. "Don't you dare talk to me about manners, you little freak! You came into my house without asking, went into my _closet_, you've been ordering me around nonstop, and you even _blackmailed_ me! So don't you _dare_ criticize my manners!"

Somehow, Papier was unfazed by my outburst. He merely sniffed pompously. "You've only proven my point, Overlander. Now calm yourself—the Portal will be opening in about fifteen minutes, by my count, and I don't want to be responsible for bringing a heathen into Her Majesty's court."

I couldn't even formulate a response—_heathen_? How was _I_ a heathen?! Half of me wished for a lighter or match so I could end my own misery…but the other, kinder part, chastised me for even _thinking_ about getting rid of him. Burning him would be tantamount to burning a person, and I wasn't up to that. So, instead of taking any murderous action, I took a passive-aggressive one: I ignored him. For the next thirty minutes (the Portal was late, apparently) I blatantly ignored any and all comments Papier made. Finally, I infuriated him so much that he smacked my face.

"Hey!" I cried, cringing to the side as he tried to attack again. "Stop that!"

Papier's ink-face was in a snarl. "Oh, that's rich, coming from the girl who just spent the past half-hour _ignoring me_!"

Resisting a smirk, I said, "You called me a _heathen_. You deserved it."

The paper-creature sneered. "No, _you_ deserved it, stupid Overlander. You've made my job five hundred times more difficult than it ought to be—you should be _grateful_ to have received an invitation from the Queen, not_ irritated_! Don't you have any idea of what an honor this is?"

I jumped to my feet, clearly invading the paper's personal bubble by shoving my face near his—he edged back, his sharp expression softening slightly towards fear. "Listen here, _scrap paper_. You keep expecting me to know stuff about your world, but_ I don't_! Wrap your little brain around that! All you've done is pester me about how stupid I am, how I don't know anything, and make your disdain of me _very_ clear—so here's a message for _you_: _I. Am. Going. __Home_. Do you understand that? I'm sick and tired of your crap, and I'm going home. You can take the Portal yourself!"

Finishing my soliloquy, I grabbed my duffel and stormed off—to hell with the paper freak. He could go back to Underworld or wherever while I returned to _normalcy_ and forgot all about him.

Suddenly, Papier was in front of me, fear etched on his face. "You _can't_ go home! You have to help _me_ get back!"

"Oh, so it's all about you, huh?" I snarled, brushing past him.

Papier moved in my way again. "No, but I'll be stuck here forever if you don't come! L-look, we can talk with the White Queen about getting you back quicker if it's that important…just give it a try, hmm?"

He was trying his darndest to be genial, but I wasn't buying it. "No. And I'd better not see you again, either, or I _will_ burn you until you're just ashes." It must've been my imagination, but I could've sworn Papier shivered.

"Look, Miss Harper…please?"

I stopped. Please…he'd said _please_. Never had Papier used the tiniest bit of polite etiquette with me, for all his pompousness, but now…now he was really desperate. For the first time, I wondered what I'd be walling him away from if I refused to get him back—could paper have a family? Friends? (Could someone like Papier have friends?) What would I be condemning him to a life without?

Oh, curse my compassion.

"Alright," I spit out, around my clenched teeth.

Papier stared at me. "What?" he asked, astonished. His ink-mouth was agape.

I rolled my eyes. "I said alright. I'll help you get back—but on one condition." It was a stretch, but I figured I could get _something_ out of him considering his current state.

"What?" came the skeptical response.

"Stop calling me _Overlander_. Emily or Miss Harper is fine, but nothing else." It was a petty, maybe selfish demand, especially when compared to the other things I really wanted—but my compassion had won out again. I'd wanted very badly to ask him never to speak to me again, but that had felt a tiny bit cruel. Besides, what if everyone else there turned out to be rude or speak a different language or something, and I'd distanced myself from the only other "person" I could talk to. Sure, it was farfetched, but it did the trick for my compassion.

Papier nodded—well, it was more like his ink-face bobbed up and down, but the point got across. "Sure. Ok. Now, can we go back to the Portal?"

"It's there?" My heart nearly stopped.

"Yes, duh. Now, let's go—we don't want it to close."

--

Back in the clearing, I stared at the faintly rippling, vertical circle. It was very similar to what Papier had described—except it was like _many_ water drops were going into the bowl, not just one. And it seemed to shimmer in certain places, like it was a soap bubble instead of just water. It was also slightly cloudy, touched with just a hint of opaqueness.

Beyond it was a mess of rippling colors—green, mostly, spotted with white, red, pink, blue, orange, yellow, purple…every color I could think of, and then some. Papier was scrutinizing it closely. "Oh no. Something went wrong—this one's coming out at _least_ a day's walk from Marmoreal!" he groaned.

"Please tell me you're joking," I choked.

Papier rolled his ink-eyes. "Nope. But we've got to go…we wouldn't _ever_ get back otherwise."

I weighed the options: walk for a day, or be stuck with Papier for life. "Alright, let's get this over with. You go first."

The paper smirked, moving behind me. "Oh, no, Miss Harper, you have to go first—otherwise I can't go."

Some part of me didn't want to believe him, but I was so exasperated that I went for it. I took six steps forward and entered the Portal.

It was like being drenched in water—first it was freezing cold, then skin-frying hot, then back to arctic temperatures. I couldn't see a thing: I was encased in that rippling, cloudy substance. As my lungs began starving for air, and the cold became unbearable…I broke free. Gulping in air, I fell to my knees, greedily refilling my lungs. My duffel lay discarded at my side, and Papier, looking entirely unaffected by the experience, floated gently to sit upon the bag.

"Why didn't you warn me?" I demanded, once I could speak.

Papier raised an ink-eyebrow. "Would you have gone if you knew?"

He had a point, even if I didn't want to admit it. Instead I stood up, surveying the area around me. It was full of brightly colored mushrooms and flowers and other plants, a veritable visual _feast_ of color and exotic plantlife. I felt rather overwhelmed by the place—and off in the distance, I could see a mix of plants and fog. The whole effect was pretty eerie, and I immediately felt uncomfortable.

"Come on! We want to reach Marmoreal by nightfall, or you won't have a dress in time," called Papier, rising into the air and moving off down a rather misty path.

I slowly got to my feet, slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, and followed him on shaky legs. What had I gotten myself into?


End file.
